New Ulm weekly review., 1887-06-22

once. do not know any thing Of De-
Vendosa save that Mrs. Dewitt met
him in Italy and asked me to show him
some kindness. and IS ] heartily Like
and admire the young fellow was only
too glad to do So Now, what do your
questions meanp
I spoke defantly rather for I read
distrust and suspicion Of my favorite in
her manner, and was impatient Of it,
She drew her chair close to mine and
said in a low tone, with meaning in her
voice:
ssYou have never recovered your
pitcher, and DeVendosa was here the
evening on which it disappeared
.'Well, well, you are telling ME moth
ing new!''
Wait moment He has been
frequent visitor at my house Of late,
and twice, after his departure, have I
discovered that something Of value has
disappeared from my rooms. Now,
what does it mean?''
- m sure | don't know" I said cap
tiously, for even was little stagger-
ed at this weight Of evidence .sPer-
haps your servants are dishonest, why
not suspect them?''
Why not suspect your Julia of hay
ing taken your pitcher? No. were nv
servants thieves they would not select
such articles as those which l have lost.
| feel doubly anxious, because I have
become really fond of Pauline Ericsson,
and fear that she is forming an at
tachment for your protege. I have not
mentioned my suspicious to her, know
ing that they would distress her, but l
must probe the mystery which sur
rounds DeVendosa.
II wish you success" said GROSSLY.
"But pray don't come to me with any
m more questions. and, if you discover
that Paola DeVendosa is a common
thief, ! beg you not to take the trouble
OF acquainting me with the fact. One
hates to be proved at fault in his pet
science, and if I, an old student of
physiognomy, have made such tre-
menduous mistake in this mans char
acter, I don't want to know it. Now,
what about the opera?' And so I
resolutely shut my ears to her suspic-
ions.
| am very fond Of children, old maid
though [ be, and have constant stream
OF little visitors on bright afternoons
MY artistic sense and love of the beauti-
ful are gratified as well as my philopro-
genitiveness by the deliciously Quaint
appearance of the lovely little creatures
who, one and all. call me '.Aunt Fan
ny" What pictures they make in their
exquisitely dainty, rich costumes, with
their masses of dark and golden curls
falling upon the deep, Vandyke collars
of their plush coats, and their big, ser-
Gus and merry eyes gazing out from
beneath the thick picturesque bangs
which frame their smooth, babyish
brows! They are most welcome visitors
and seldom find me unprepared for
their reception. Perhaps I show a
subtle wisdom in enhancing my own
attractions by the added charnnes of
delicate cakes and bonbons; at all
events, they love to come and love to
have them.
One day in March am holding my
tiny court when the door is thrown
wide open and two new comers rush
into the room. Behind them appears
white-capped bonnet, who is making
vain attempts to quiet their spirits
They rush up to me and throw them
selves tumultuous into my arms.
''Oh, Aunt Fanny, Aunt Fanny. we
have brought you something you love;
guess, guess what it is!''
.Why yourselves, little geese, | say,
STOPPING to kiss the glowing cheeks
"No, no, wrong; it is something bet
ter: cream. real cream from our place
at Staten Island. Marie, aprochcs toutc
de suite. She has it, Marie has,
Really! How delicious! and so sweet
OF you my darlings, but Marie may take
it to Julia who will put it in cooler
place than this warm room.''
And the bonne departs, glad, no
doubt. of the opportunity to have little
chat with my maid. I am testifying
my gratitude to my small benefactors
by liberal supply yofsweetmeats, when
a sharp, shrill cry attracts my atten-
tion. In the doorway stands Julie, her
excltable French nature aroused to a
tremendous pitch, as she pours out a
voluable string of unintilligable senten-
ces. see that she holds something
aloft in her hand, but am too near
sighred to tell what it is
Julie" I say in tone of authority
which has it's effect, ''what is the mat
terp''
.'But see, madame, it is NEST ce pas,
our dear. little pitcher come back to
.us!''
The little Ormstead had recognized
it before l. and now the elder burst
forth, Indignantly:
st is no such thing. It is NAM
mas own pitcher, Marie, Marie,
detes done, NEST ce pas que c'est a.
711GN10n?
/ had by this time taken the little jug
into my hands. 1t was indeed my own.
miraculously and mysteriously restored
to me. There could be no doubt as to
its identity. Even were such design
duplicated it would not bear the stamp
of my family arms and my great grand
parents initials. Still the children
clamored for the vindicaton of their
mothers claims, and could only
silcence them by putting on my bonnet